5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 99: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MURDER IN FLORIDA I still didn’t tell him about the flash in the window. “A Cuban lady. She hasn’t been here long.” “Oh, you mean she took a powder on account of Havana politics ?” “Exactly,” said Ryan and frowned plenty. “What’s wrong with her—halitosis?” His grin reminded me of a warm gin fizz. “She’s my best customer. But the threats didn’t start till she moved in.” I noticed a little round hole in the stand that held the cash register. Reaeh- ing for my pocket knife, I began digging. When I got the bullet out, Ryan ex- plained in a hurry. “That was fired one night when I got through waiting on a customer who came in from the highway.” The slug wasn’t awfully big, but some- thing about it was funny looking to me. I didn’t know just what. “This slug mighta killed you,” I said bluntly. “When do I get my advance dough ?” “Right now, Mr. Carmody.” “Skip the mister. They call me ‘Hon- est’ John.” E LOOKED at me, kind of amused and shrewd. “You used to be a police- man, I would wager. Ryan meant I didn’t look dumb enough to be called “Honest,” so I must be a crooked ex-bluecoat. My uncle, the one Ryan had used for a namesake, had a face pretty much like mine, only a little rounder and redder, and he didn’t carry his liquor so well. The handle I had was a rib, though. They winked when they called me “Honest” John. I was on the square but I couldn’t prove it. Ryan knelt at the floor-safe which was flush with the concrete. Anyone trying to steal it would have had to haul away the whole floor slab. I saw what must have been at least a thousand bucks in worn bills. He dug up my down payment and spun the dial to lock the safe. “You might as well trust me whole hog or not pay me,” I said. Ryan gaped like a dead bass. “What do you mean?” he blurted. “Buddy, how can I go to bat to protect your business if I don’t know the score?” 99 “All you’re supposed to do is find out about that prowler,” he mumbled and fidgeted. “Do you understand ?” “Oh, all right.” I ran my car into the garage. Like I said, that took up most of the left wing of the Moorish palace. It had a lot of arches, facing into the E and also facing Sunset Beach and the ocean. His car, a six-cylinder job, was standing in the corner. He gave me some overalls which I put on. Then I took my suitcase up- stairs. I waded ankle-deep in dust. My room was at the end of the hall that ran in the direction of the drive. The furnishings were dirty and flimsy, and the bath was across the hall. My windows faced sand dunes one way. From the others, inside the E, I got a slanting look at more dunes and the ocean. Through two windows in the opposite wall, I could see the main highway that runs the eighteen-mile length of the island. Ryan pointed up the hall. “There’s the kitchen,” he said. “Up at the other end is the living room. On the right are empty rooms. You might take a look around.” Opposite the kitchen door was a little cross hall that led to steps going to the rear. There were coquina block walks, half buried in drifted sand, and a little patio enclosed by a wall about waist- high. Before I made my inspection, I stood there grinning at my new overalls. Ryan caught the point. “After all, it’s plausible, having you here. Picnic and week-end parties do stop for gas, even if they can’t get frank- furters, film, cokes, and so on any more.” “No good,” I said, shaking my head. “[’m buying you out, get it?” He nodded. Then I heard an engine below. “There’s a customer now,” he said. It was a last year’s convertible, Nile green with chrome trim, not much heav- ier than my bus, though longer, and about forty more horsepower. It was made for speed, and so was the dame at the wheel. I hurried down. “Fill her up?” I asked, polishing the windshield. The red hat bobbed, and so did the black curls. She had a nice smile and nicer eyes—big, dark ones. I couldn’t CoOMmiclooo SS (C(O)